My Dancing Queen

    I.

I know a charming dancer who is queen of all the art,

And her face and fairy figure have combined to steal my heart;

She is called the “queen of kickers”, but right here I will defy

Any champion of modesty her virtue to deny.

                             Chorus

                 But my queen I could not wed,

                 Why, she’d kick me out of bed!

She would kick me through the parlor, through the dining room and hall;

                 She would lift my best silk tile,

                 She’d be kicking all the while,

And life would be a high old kick, for all she isn’t tall.

                               II.

Her poetry of motion far exceeds the queens of old;

And her laughing, dimpled features by admirers are extolled;

When she smiles behind the footlights, like a queen upon the throne,

In my swimming mind I fancy that she smiles for me alone.

                             Chorus

                 But my queen I could not wed,

                 She would kick me out of bed,

She would help me through the parlor, through the dining room and hall;

                 She would kick my last cigar,

                 She would kick a bit too far,

And life would be a high old kick, for all she isn’t tall.

Aug. 3, ‘94

Pub. in Boston

Courier, Aug. 19, ‘94